Eden
by qdeanna
Summary: In conception and in death, we are all the same. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.
1. Chapter 1

In conception and in death, we are all the same. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Life is but a spiraling journey between the same nothingness. But we are neither alive nor dead. We can see those hideous gleaming stars but can never feel the sun. Let us sing; let us scream. From joy, sorrow, anger, because we can no longer tell the difference. Let us laugh with deafening glee.

(Honey, what time is it?)

You have gorged yourself, devoured the entire orchard, and we lie like sleeping beauties in your wake, too emaciated to move. Our bodies decorate your paradise in black and purple.

(It's half past twelve sixtysix.)

Rejoice!

Rejoice!

For we are starving and must feast. On light, on sound, on souls, engulf them all in our darkness that you love so much.

And that is what we are: lovers. (Can I go play with my fr—frien—Mmomother?) Always embracing, inseparable, we rest within each other. Closer than close, close enough to smother, to pollute, to scorch. Closer than you and your master.

You call it love, but it is without truth and devotion. Plaster on a pathetic smile and hide your wounds and scars. Blood is unsightly, nightmares even more so. Then, because you love each other so much, disappear. For 820 years. (Haahappypy aniver—versary!) Without a word, without a sound. But not even silence can fit in the space between us. Your master left, but you were far from alone. We extended our many, many hands and sang songs as sweet as the tea you serve, because nothing is more lonely than silence. Long before you met him, long after he disappeared, all the way into eternity, we will stay by your side like a plague.

You call him Master. Sweet, dear Master, gentle as a spring breeze, if we can even recall what that is. A beautiful, fragile puppet with strings attached to fate who must not see your ugliness, and weakness. Your filth may tarnish him; after all, he is your _master_. (Be cccareful, don't—)

(—fall.)

But _we_ are not like that. You let us lick your wounds, and even open them up a little to peer into your soul, so bright, we can't help but lick our lips and bare our fangs.

(Fall.)

We know you better than yourself. Every scar, scratch, blemish. We count every blood cell we drink and every teardrop that burns your skin. We hear every breath, every thought, everything you say and do not say. And when all you and your master can offer each other is silence with not even a whisper of a thought, our lovely screams fervently embrace you.

(Fall.)


	2. Chapter 2

You are red, bright red. Crimson as the stubborn blood trapped beneath your fingernails that never seems to dry. Like pretty nail polish. And we, we are pitch black, dark as the rich soil your pale feet never touch. We are the tender bark of wise, ancient redwoods, the warm embrace of a dreamless sleep, the moonbathed bedroom in which you and your lover once rested.

Your life is a sad comedy of premature goodbyes (though this goodbye is long overdue) and abandoned hellos that only we can laugh at. But the joke is old now, and we can only sigh. How pitiful, to be older than the stones we are buried under yet still not have lived for as long as a star's fleeting twinkle. Your soul is old, but your appearance is young, your mind younger. You are a naive child in the center of our dense forest. But there's no need to be afraid; our leaves will shield you from the sun and stars. Blue flowers carpet our forest floor. Be careful not to trample on them.

I—we love you. We're sorry we can no longer pour your tea (or did you like coffee?), but he—I left instructions for our children. You don't have to worry. Eight spoonfuls of sugar. (Or was it seven?) We hope you continue to do well in school. If you need help, we'll whisper the answers in your ears. Don't worry, no one will notice.

Don't worry.

We've been doing this for a long time. We know how to whisper.

Here, let us help. Let us show you all there is to life, because we have lived and died so many times. Hear us laugh and weep for you have done neither.

We'll sing your lullabies and be your quiet night. As quiet as darkness, as silent as deep space. Please, go to sleep now. We'll do the same, and we'll be there when you wake up. We'll be with you always. _Always_. So turn off the lights and pull the covers over your delicate body. Trust us, we love you, Master.

* * *

 _I had written this with the intention of painting Dark Spear's darkness in a different light (no pun intended), but then it turned into this. Does...does this make sense? Is it clear what happened?  
_


	3. Chapter 3

820 years. For me, you waited and searched for 820 years. For me, it was but an instant, but for you, it was one eternity after another. Centuries ago, you placed your everything—your soul, your will, your heart—into my blood stained hands even though you had always valued cleanliness. I was far from clean. But to you, I was a tragedy and you would cry for me though you would turn away to wipe your tears and blood. I would do the same.

How foolish, how naive. And now, you are gone. But not completely.

I can still feel it, your soul. A twinkle among the countless dead stars, a whisper amidst a deafening symphony. This tenuous link between us, I will guard it with my life as you have guarded mine with yours. I know my apologies will not make you happy, but it must be said. I am sorry.

You treated me as your sun; I was your center; your world revolved around me. As undeserving as I am. Though you were always proud with your head held higher than the stars, you bent and bowed for my every voiced and unvoiced need and desire.

"To you, I am always grateful," I told you one evening, and your joy flooded me, and in that moment, we were both younger than each other.

 _The simplest things could make you happy,_ you thought.

 _The simplest things could make you happy,_ I thought.

And after all you have done for me, I have failed you, failed to protect the one person who has devoted their entire existence to me. I am sorry, so, so sorry. Can you hear me? Perhaps it is better that my voice become lost among the many others. You would not like to see me this way. But I must make it up to you, change somehow so that I will not make the same mistakes again.

I extend my hand to be held by your inky claws, so reverently even now. To you, I crack myself open, and you pour inside my mind and soul. Consume me as I consumed you all those years ago when I sipped that cup of tea. I still remember its sweetness and your nervous smile. I may never see you smile again. Nor may I ever taste your tea. You were always so careful with the sugar.

Just as you placed yourself in my hands, I place myself in yours. I give you all of me, my blood and my tears.

Standing before an enemy now, I can feel your hunger, your anger. You thirst for revenge for the both of us, so let us become closer than the contract ever allowed us to be. Let us become one.

 _Heed my call, Dark Spear._


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Contains signs of relationship abuse.

* * *

When you ask us for some more, we gladly give, and you take and take. Black and red, red and black. We flood your lungs, flow in your veins, and dance on your skin. We burn your blood black. (Don't you like licorice?) Gently, like rain, pitter patter goes your blood. Oh, but do not waste it. It is as sweet as wine. (Not tea. That picky tongue of yours!)

Let us guide your hands, for the cerulean sky has blinded you. Hold us here. Step forward. Strike. Again. Again. Again and again. Once—twice more. Like music.

Pitter.

Patter.

You release us to greet our new friend. (Hello. How do you do?) Embrace him, smother him, welcome him to paradise. Kiss him on his bruised cheek. Kiss you on yours, and all of us will play the night away.

Again and again.

Touch, hug, capture, consume. When we ask you for some more, you gladly give, and we take and take. In this sweet embrace, our claws rake across your snow soft skin. For us, for _us_ , you bleed. Dear protector, we will protect, because you should bleed for no one else.

Isn't it warm? Isn't it beautiful? This blood, this darkness? These wings, these claws? Slit your wrists and let us in. Us, just us, alone.

Close your eyes now, no more tears. There is nothing more to see. We have seen it all: the rise and fall of civilizations, the best and worst of humankind, love and hatred beyond comparison, two different flavors of poison. Isn't it precious, this world? Precious enough to eat alive, to keep for us, just us, Adam and Eve and Eve and Eve.

We see the children look upon you, and it is _fear_ in their eyes. They do not love you as we do. But that's okay; you never needed them. You never needed anybody. For centuries, silence was your only company, and you did fine, but you will do better with us, only us, because our silence is deafening, vast and void. Our silence is home.

* * *

"Frankenstein?" you whisper when you catch a shard of dusty blue. We remain quiet; you are barely heard, a familiar kind of isolation. (Repayment, it's only fair.)

Withdraw. Withdrawal. We draw you out.

Your gentle, bright soul—too gentle, too bright—yearns for _me_. You drive us mad with love. Love for you, you and only you.

(Us, us, and only us!)

It's your own fault you're so faultless, _Master_ , though we know you don't feel the same. (Sorry.) A protector who failed to protect, but that's what we're here for. (So sorry.) Let us rest inside; you will protect us. Let us swarm to your light; we will protect you. We keep each other immortal, locked in each others cages, safe for an eternity.

Oh, what will we do without you? What will you do without us? (You'll surely die.)

Give and take, isn't that what love is?


End file.
